Photographer's Note

Clouds scribbled
their white back
and forth as if you
had tried to erase
the sky, as if you
held some grudge
against the weather
or the atmosphere
or a certain shade
of blue, as if you
could command
the horizon, as if
words once spoken
could be recalled,
as if you could
erase anything,
as if the past was
not indelible, as if.